Not Enough
by Ariel Riddle
Summary: Seventh Year is a horrifying nightmare. Why did Harry and Ron have to go horcrux hunting without her in the first place? Especially when Death Eaters ran the school! One Death Eater in particular- Hermione's partner - of all the titles he could have - the Head Boy seemed to turn up wherever she went. She can't decide if that's a good thing or a bad thing.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hello lovely readers! This is my entry for Strictly Dramione Springfest. There are five chapters total that I will be uploading shortly. Written for the prompt:** **A week's worth of detention? With Malfoy? So much for the Head Boy and Head Girl setting a good example.  
** _ **(I took a lot of liberties with this prompt, and took it somewhere a bit darker, I hope you don't mind!)**_

 **Beta Love to the incredibly talented MrBenzedrine C:**

 **Disclaimer: All canon character, plots, and situations from the Harry Potter universe belong to JK Rowling. I am not profiting from this writing.**

 **Please let me know what you think! XxX**

* * *

 **Chapter 1**

The taunting was wearing on her nerves.

On her pride!

It was disturbing and maddening and jarring all at once.

Well, of course it was. Harry and Ron were gone. Snape was _bloody Headmaster._ Alecto Carrow was teaching Muggle Studies! It was probably only thanks to Professor McGonnagal that she'd managed to keep her Head Girl position—the position she had earned! But did she really want the position? Dear God—all that seemed to have come with it was _attention._ The spotlight was focused on her seemingly all the time, doubly so since she was Muggle-born.

It would be so much easier to be one of the students that just slunk to the sidelines, that no one hardly ever called on. What good had it done her to raise her hand every time a teacher had asked a question, anyway? It was far better to be _missed_ —to be _overlooked!_ It seemed all the studying - all of the volunteering - all of the extra work she had put in - had been a _grave_ mistake.

The things Amycus Carrow taught them in Defense! She could hardly stomach it. Defense was the biggest joke in the school, next to Muggle Studies. In Defense they learned to wield dark curses, and in Muggle Studies they were taught just how _inferior_ Muggles were.

Hermione felt bile rise in her throat.

Harry and Ron _had left her._

" _You'll be my eyes and ears, Hermione. Ron and I will find the horcruxes and destroy them."_

It had been what Harry told her after the wedding. It had been a risk - they all had known it! For Hermione to go back to the school, to take up her Head Girl position, next to _bloody Malfoy_ of all people...She had agreed to come; how could she not? Her friends had _needed her._ They couldn't face the dark invasion alone! Harry was not there to defend anyone, and he'd left her in his absence but _Merlin_ —she couldn't even defend herself!

It had been clear very quickly that this was going to be a school year like none ever before.

The students were _changing._ The fight had somewhat dimmed in their eyes to be replaced by dawning acceptance. It made her want to hurl. Yes, there was Neville and Luna and Parvati and Cho and Dean and Justin and Seamus, and they were very brave, but they were _overwhelmed,_ and slowly Hermione felt them losing _strength,_ losing their will to fight, just like she was.

How could they not?

Hogwarts was a bloody _nightmare!_

The teachers that had been there before remained, but they were _helpless._ Bound to the new material and new leadership. They were becoming just as dull and lifeless as the rest of them! The Ministry had changed. The new doctrine they were putting out was ridiculous, but everyone was far too afraid to voice their concern. It would only be a matter of time before they came for her. Perhaps they hadn't yet because they were biding their time. Maybe Hermione would be the last. Maybe the third wheel of the infamous Golden Trio was better off at Hogwarts under the watchful eye of so many of her enemies. Aside from threats, no one had come for her. No one had yet to snap her wand, but how much longer would it last?

She'd already been forced to sit at the back of the Hogwarts Express when she'd returned from Christmas break. She'd stayed at the Burrow, where it was _safe,_ but for how much longer? Things were happening, and no one was stopping it. She hadn't even considered that it would take this long to find the horcruxes—it was maddening! Surely they would go after her Head Girl status next; they would capture her, and they would rip her wand from her, and she would be incapable of doing magic.

The other students were fond of telling her this would happen.

Students she had known for years had jeered at her - had sneered at her - had made sure she knew what was coming.

Hermione lived in fear everyday. She'd been left behind, and the people she thought were friends were slowly withdrawing from her. The people she once thought were acquaintances were turning into people she didn't even know! They threw hexes at her, hurled insults at her. She knew they did this to _survive_ , that they were merely _adapting,_ but it didn't hurt any less! Her pride was suffering. She first had no family, and now no friends. Even her magic was threatened.

It was _no life._

It was alarming and terrible and so _very strange._

How had this happened?

How would she survive it?

 **~oOo*oOo~**

"It was a diadem," Luna whispered to her as they walked the halls, not quite looking at her.

"A what?" Hermione was careful to keep her head ducked as she walked so no one would see them talking.

Luna cast a worried glance around. "It's like a crown...a tiara of sorts. That's what Rowena Ravenclaw had. It was supposed to inspire wisdom."

Hermione pressed her lip into a thin line. Rowena's diadem...could that be another one of the horcruxes Tom Riddle forged? He had a tendency to go after things with a high magical output. The more renowned it was, the more he wanted it. It stood to reason he would have tracked down the tiara. Just because it was lost did not mean it had to be lost to him.

"Thanks, Luna."

She would simply have to keep her eye out for it, for that and the cup! Maybe they had left her behind, but that didn't mean she still couldn't be of some assistance. She wanted this all to end. If it didn't end soon, it would mean her _sanity._ She was already changing along with the other students. War had that kind of effect on everyone, and she wasn't so special as to be impervious to it.

It had been the last time she had spoken to Luna. They had come for her soon after. Hermione knew it was only a matter of time before they came for her too.

 **~oOo*oOo~**

When she crawled through the portrait hole of the Head's Common Room, she found him to be sleeping on the large divian.

Internally, she breathed a sigh of relief.

If he was sleeping, that would mean he would not be taunting her. Her night would be peaceful. She'd made it back from the library before curfew and without seeing anyone in passing. She'd taken to Disillutioning herself at night. It wouldn't quite stave off the gaze of a roaming Death Eater, but it did increase the chance of her going unnoticed.

He looked peaceful when he slept.

She found herself wandering closer just because she was curious. She rarely had a chance to view Malfoy sans his ever-present sneer. He looked... _different._

He had a Medieval Runes book draped across his chest. She'd never heard of the text before, let alone come across it in the library. It was probably an addition straight from the Malfoy library. She briefly wished for the opportunity to peruse through those texts and tomes tucked away in his sprawling manor. Imagine all the books, all the limited editions she would find there! It was a pipe dream, of course, but she allowed herself the small fantasy.

She was now standing right beside his prone form. For a change, it was _her_ towering over _him_. If she wanted to, she could probably curse him. It wasn't like they hadn't been forced to practice on doxies anyway. She knew how to do it. An ominous feeling settled in her abdomen, doused by coldness. He did not usually allow himself to be vulnerable. He was always so careful about that. It was disconcerting that he had tonight, almost as if he were comfortable with her.

Did he not see her as a threat?

Did he believe her to be helpless, that her fire had _died_?

It hadn't.

Hermione was sure of that. It would take more than a few months of terror to alter her completely. He was wrong to think she would do nothing if given the chance.

It was quite bizarre to see him like this.

So open and vulnerable.

Hermione could place the tip of her wand to his pale throat, and he'd be at her mercy. A thrill sparked down her spine at the thought of it. The column if his neck was exposed thanks to the top buttons of his Oxford being haphazardly opened. His green-lined jumper was bunched at the neck from the way he slouched. His robes were carelessly cast on the chair opposite the divian.

His smooth complexion blended into his platinum, fine hair. She'd always hated his hair—it was a Malfoy trademark and therefore signified the fear he had over others. His nose was infuriatingly straight, like the sort of nose you'd see on a Roman statue carved in stone. He looked distractedly peaceful, and Hermione supposed that's why she stared for so long. It was a look not usually associated with him. His brows were slightly darker than his hair and somehow eloquent. He wasn't frowning or smirking but just _resting,_ and, because of that, she was able to truly _look_ at him. She'd never before noticed his perfectly shaped cupid bow lips. It _was Malfoy,_ but Hermione could not deny how breath-stealingly handsome he looked. He was the epitome of a debonair Pureblood, but he was handsome just the same. The skull and snake mark stood out glaringly against the light skin of his arm, reminding her that she was staring at her enemy who, at any moment, could rouse.

She told herself the reason she didn't act was because it would only mean more trouble for her. Malfoy was a celebrated Death Eater, partially responsible to bringing down the greatest wizard of their age. She had no doubts he wouldn't have hesitated to cause her harm, but she was different than him. She didn't take advantage of people when they were sleeping, and she would always condone a fair fight.

Malfoy fought for the Dark, and she fought for the Light.

 **~oOo*oOo~**

It was when they were torturing gnomes that it happened.

They were by the greenhouse where the creatures would often congregate in the garden. Hermione briefly recalled times spent outdoors at the Burrow where Crookshanks could often be found chasing around the little gnomes. It was a pleasant memory, and there was no reason for it to bring a tear to her eye, but strangely it did.

The world had changed so much since then.

"Step to it, now," Professor Carrow directed them. "I want everyone to get a chance." He turned to face Hermione. "Granger, I haven't seen you perform the spell correctly."

It was an observation, but it was also an order that gripped around her heart like a vice.

Hermione tried to tell herself it didn't matter - they were just _pests -_ she'd often seen Molly de-gnome the Burrow gardens. It was _nothing._ It was merely _survival._

She trained her vine wand on an unsuspecting gnome and muttered the curse. " _Crucio._ "

A red light shot out of her wand before fizzling and disappearing completely. The spell didn't even reach its intended target. Hermione's magic did not wish to cooperate.

"Just as I thought," the professor told her. "Weakness is in your very blood - your very _muddy blood_." He openly leered at her, and she felt suddenly uncomfortable.

Several students snickered, and Hermione worried Professor Carrow may instruct the students to practice on her. It wouldn't be the first time students had to turn their wands on each other in Defense. But _dear God,_ she'd rather that _not happen._

"No, Granger."

Her eyes were suddenly trapped in a startling silver gaze; the intensity of it made her feel as if she were skewered.

"You have to _mean it._ They won't leave you alone until you do." Malfoy glanced away inconspicuously, as if he hadn't been speaking to her, and Hermione wondered if he even _had._ "You have to use your rage to pull from the Dark Arts, use your anger, or it won't work - fear doesn't work."

"I'm not afraid, Malfoy," she was compelled to tell him.

"Whatever," he muttered under his breath before shooting a jet of red magic at another burrowing pest.

"Why do you care, anyway?"

"If you don't get it right, we'll be out here all day, and, unlike you, I have things to do."

She was still suspicious with him. If the situation wasn't so bizarre, she could almost think he was helping her just out of the kindness of his heart. It was silly, of course. Malfoy _didn't care_ about her well-being. She was more sure about that than anything else in her life.

Even so, she had to get the spell right.

She was _angry,_ quite! If the solution to performing a strong Cruciatus was simply rage, she could perform one flawlessly, she was sure. That particular emotion was abundant and _overflowing_.

She raised her wand once more, this time calling upon her magic angrily. It was hesitant but jerked to her forcibly, bristling across her skin in a way very unfamiliar to her. It almost felt... _powerful_...but that was dangerous. She should not think in terms of feelings whilst calling upon the Dark Arts.

" _Crucio!_ " she said with meaning, emphasizing every syllable and watching the blood-red spell wrench from her wand in a powerful spurt. This time, her spell made it to its target, sending the little creature thrashing on the floor in a frenzied terror.

"Gerroff me!" it demanded, but Hermione merely strengthened her spell, relishing in the powerful force that welled through her, and then the gnome didn't speak at all.

It was sort of _welcoming_ \- to feel so free and liberated - her magic was wild and unhinged, like the turmoil in her soul. For a heart-stopping moment, she could see why some wizards turned to the Dark Arts. She felt momentarily blissful and quite uncharacteristically high. Her eyes were hooded and her cheeks flushed pink. It was quite a strange feeling, one she hadn't experienced before, maybe the closest time being when she performed a complicated bit of magic.

"Well done," Professor Carrow praised. "It appears the Mudblood may have some skill yet."

It was like infusing her veins with ice. Hermione felt suddenly sick to her stomach. What had she done? The creature lay on the grass unmoving, and panic churned in her chest. Had she killed the little gnome? The excuses she had made about the gnomes being nothing but pests hardly improved her quickly souring mood. _More changes,_ she thought despairingly. _Soon I won't even be able to recognize myself._

She looked up to see Malfoy studying her with interest, completely uncaring if he was seen by others. "You did it, Granger," he said softly. Then, his features hardened and his eyes narrowed. "But you're still an incompetent _Mudblood._ "

Hermione felt wretched. If she was beginning not to recognize herself, would Harry and Ron recognize her?

 **~oOo*oOo~**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Here is another chapter-I hope you enjoy! More intense dramione moments in this one. Let me know what you think!**

 **Thank you again to the ah-mazing MrBenzedrine for the awesome beta!**

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 **Chapter 2**

Muggle Studies was worst, if that was possible.

Justin Finch-Fletchy wasn't even in their class. It was only Gryffindor and Slytherin, and she was always the focal point of such lessons, being the only Muggle-born.

"So you see," Professor Carrow droned. "Muggles are not capable of handling themselves all on their own." She leveled her dark gaze at the class. "They are as helpless as they are ruthless. They would sooner bring our world to end before getting along with others peacefully. They are a pathetic race incapable of leading themselves, hence the reason the Dark Lord has seen fit to topple their pathetic leadership and take responsibility himself."

Hermione felt like she was going to be sick.

In the corner of her eye, she could see Neville clenching his jaw, and she prayed he wouldn't say anything—it _never_ did any good to say anything.

She had got surprisingly adept at keeping her mouth shut. The righteous indignation that used to burn like a forest fire in her chest had dimmed to a rather pitiful ember. It was better to stare off blankly - to respond automatically - surely Neville had learned.

"Is the Wizarding world so much better?" he queried, neglecting to even so much as raise his hand, which Hermione knew to infuriate the professor. "It isn't as if we don't have our own wars to contend with."

Apparently, he hadn't learned.

Hermione heard several snickers to the right of her. This was just the sort of response the Purebloods wished for. They reveled in the opportunity to correct such _controversial and incorrect_ views. Surely Neville knew that.

" _Had,_ " Professor Carrow corrected sharply. "The war is over, and it's time you learned to get along with the way things are."

Neville crossed his arms over his broad chest. "The war _isn't_ over."

"Hands on the desk!" Carrow demanded.

When Neville refused, she shot out her elm wand, magically slamming his hands down on the wood, and Hermione watched with horror as two crude splinters grew out of the table and cut through his outstretched palms, effectively skewering him there.

"Professor," the word tumbled out of her mouth before she could stop herself. "Please, _stop_. Neville's learned his lesson, and he knows the way of things, _please_!"

Professor Carrow grinned evilly at Hermione, and dread began to surge in her heart. "Is that so?"

Hermione could not think past the sound of Neville's pained cries.

"Oh, hush it up, would you?" Parkinson asked rudely. "You're a disgrace to Purebloods everywhere, Longbottom."

The professor smiled indulgently. "See? Some of you have learned, but others haven't." Professor Carrow appraised Hermione thoughtfully. "I've got it. Front and center, Granger. A Stinging Hex, I should think, only because we haven't much time."

Hermione instantly became paralyzed with fear. Out of the corner of her eyes, she could see some students stiffen, and she thought, in one wild moment, that Malfoy was one of them.

"Goodie," Zabini sang. "I do have the appetite for torture this afternoon."

She bit her lip, unable to make her body comply. It was just as she had feared—Hermione was on the menu once more for the day's entertainment.

"Come on, then." Professor Carrow's gaze was challenging. "I thought Lions were supposed to be brave? Show the class how brave you really are."

She jerked to her feet, standing on wobbly legs before making her way to the front of the class where the professor had bid her to stand.

Professor Carrow smiled her approval, and Hermione had a somewhat unstable moment of thinking how strange the entire situation really was. This would have never happened before, and yet now it was becoming common place.

"Please," she tried begging. "I only wanted to appeal on his behalf, as _Head Girl._ I didn't mean to speak out of turn."

Neville's pained cries permeated the silence.

"But you are a rather disobedient Head Girl, aren't you?" Professor Carrow shot Hermione a reproachful glance. "You're always sticking your nose where it doesn't belong, and apparently, you need another lesson. I believe I shall schedule you detention with Headmaster Snape. I'm sure he will find a suitable use for you."

Hermione gulped audibly, finding her throat suddenly dry.

"Finnigan," Professor Carrow snapped. "You're up first."

Seamus didn't hesitate a second before he bolted from his seat and trained his wand at Hermione, sending a quick but slicing Stinging Hex at her. Hermione flinched as it cut through her jumper and sliced through her arm.

Finnigan was dismissed, but then Professor Carrow called up more students, some Slytherin and some Gryffindor, watching with her hawk-like gaze as they each took a turn hexing her. Hermione was riddled with small cuts but had, miraculously, managed to remain on her two feet. She couldn't keep up the feat for long, though, and when the professor finally decided to relieve Neville of his wooden prison and summon him to have a turn, Hermione couldn't help but slump to the floor.

She barely managed to turn her gaze to his defeated one, the defiance having finally left his eyes.

"Just do it, Neville," she croaked, nursing a rather deep cut on her leg.

"Better listen to the Mudblood," Professor Carrow advised. "She is learning her place, and it's time you did too."

Hermione did not hear him utter the curse, but she felt the searing pain as it cut through her thigh, leaving a jagged mark in its path. Hermione worried she would not be able to heal herself as easily as the last time something like this happened. She'd taken too many spells, and she was _so weak._ Her eyes fluttered shut in exhaustion.

"Malfoy, how about you have a go?"

Her eyes snapped back open at the professor's words. Could she take anymore? Malfoy was so cruel to her—she might pass out! Maybe it would be better if she did.

"Pardon me, Professor." Malfoy was already on his feet, and his voice was _so close_ to her. "The Mudblood is teeming with hexes already, and she's probably numb to them. I'd like it more if I could curse her while she is awake and her senses are sharp."

"I don't care what you want," the professor said with a snarl. "Cut the damned Mudblood like I've told you to. You're not above the rules, despite what you may think."

"Fine," Malfoy seethed, raising his wand.

Then he hurled a curse at her, but he didn't utter it. Instead of feeling her flesh tear to ribbons, she felt blackness abruptly invade her mind, causing her to, rather blessedly, pass out.

 **~oOo*oOo~**

Nausea clenched in his gut as he stared at Granger. She was crumpled to the floor, but she was knocked out, and that was the best he could manage.

He'd been sick with the thought of cursing her. Yes, she was a Mudblood, and she was so obviously beneath him—anyone could see that. But she had stood and endured it all, hex after hex, remaining on her feet! The thought of adding one more made him want to wretch. She was helpless, and despite cursing many helpless creatures in Draco's time as a Death Eater, the fuck if he wanted to curse her now.

It was unexplainable.

Maybe it was due to living with the Mudblood for the past several months.

Perhaps she'd infected him or something, because he couldn't stomach the thought! It was Granger, and _he hated her,_ but he couldn't bloody curse her. It was her fault, of course, her scent had assaulted the common room, had _assaulted him_. He knew instantly where she was or where she had been.

Granger, so dirty and so filthy and so _stupid._

She would be killed - that was certain - her bravery would see to that.

And maybe it would be better when that happened because it would mean he was finally free of her. Until then, he just needed to make it all stop.

"Really, Malfoy?" Carrow scorned cruelly. "The Cruciatus? We all know how powerful your Cruciatus is. You can knock a person out at will. I asked for a Stinging Hex, to cut her pretty face. Do Malfoys know how to follow instructions?"

"Sorry, Professor." Draco forced a gracious smirk. "I couldn't resist the opportunity to throw my best curse at the Mudblood."

To his left, he heard his classmates snicker.

Carrow's features flooded with distaste. "You did her a service. Now she blacked out, and her pain has momentarily ceased."

Draco furrowed his brows in mock horror. "My mistake, Professor."

"That's right, Malfoy." Then she turned to face the rest of the class. "So much for the Head Boy and Head Girl setting a good example." The statement was met with laughter. The sinister woman turned back to him. "Perhaps you will join Granger in detention with the Headmaster: a week's worth, I should think."

Draco's lip curled in derision. Because of whatever Granger was doing to him, he would be forced to endure even more torture with her. It was really quite unfortunate. If only he had cursed her properly.

 **~oOo*oOo~**

Hermione awoke with a start, surprised to find herself in the Hospital Wing.

"Hurry, child," Madam Pomfrey told her, abruptly hogging her line of vision. Her wild eyes glanced around the dark Healing Center. "I've healed the brunt of it, but you need to leave before they find out."

Hermione straightened herself groggily and tentatively got to her feet. "Yes, Madam Pomfrey."

"Here." The frightened nurse thrust a vial in her hand. "Take this potion for the pain." Madam Pomfrey steered Hermione to the exit.

"Who brought me here?" she couldn't help but wonder aloud.

"It was Mister Malfoy. Now be gone with you. Stay to the shadows, and hopefully you won't be spotted."

Hermione nodded and stepped out into the empty corridor. She instinctively felt the presence of her wand inside her robe pocket, however good that was to her, but she didn't cast a Lumos lest she be easy to spot. Instead, she stayed to the stone as Madam Pomfrey had instructed.

Memories of her day came flooding back to her, though she wished they wouldn't. It had all been rather frightening. She was so vulnerable and helpless—a free target to anyone! The fact that she was unable to defend herself was worse than enduring one petrifying Muggle Studies class.

She was alone and friendless.

She could kick herself that she hadn't insisted on joining Harry and Ron! She was useless here, a bloody liability! Merlin, the only help she seemed to have came from Malfoy of all people, regardless of how inadvertent the help may have been. It had been his turn to curse her, and his reputation preceded him, but instead of taking the opportunity to cut her deeply, he had merely put her to sleep before somehow escorting her to the Hospital Wing? What on earth did _that mean_?

She couldn't have been more relieved to see the Head's portrait hole. She mumbled the password, feeling weak and dizzy. As soon as she entered the relative safety of the Head's Common Room, she uncorked the potion and downed it in one gulp. It was bitter-tasting, but it immediately alleviated the pain in her tense and sore muscles.

The room was dark, and the fire in the hearth cast oddly distorted shadows on the furniture and walls. She wished desperately for her bed. She could close her eyes against the horror of it all and wake up to deal with it in the morning. She'd much prefer to _not_ have to deal with it in her current state.

Her bedroom was only a couples of meters away. She was _just there_ , if only he hadn't stepped into her path.

"Malfoy," she breathed, feeling panic claw its way to the surface. He looked inexplicably angry with her.

"Yes it's me, Granger." Even in the dark, she could see his intent silver gaze cutting through her like sharpened metal. "The unluckiest wizard in this entire castle, to be rooming with you."

"You took me to the Hospital Wing. You _made it stop_ —why did you help me, Malfoy?"

He rolled his heated eyes. "Help you? I helped _myself._ Your filthy blood was pervading the whole classroom. Do you think I'd want to draw more of it out? I'd rather the Pomfrey bitch seal you up than have to deal with your repulsive scent here, at the very least."

Well, that _did_ make sense.

"I suppose it was mutually beneficial then." She attempted to push past him, making a beeline for her room, but he stepped even more into her path, effectively blocking her.

"You think you're hot shit, Granger? Walking through this school like you own the place, questioning teachers?"

Hermione's eyes widened in surprise. Was he mental? "Hardly," she scoffed. "I'm just trying to stay under the radar, Malfoy. I assure you—it's not my intention to be _tortured._ "

She didn't like staring Malfoy in the eyes. It was disconcerting. He was always so intense and so bloody offputting. At this proximity, she felt she could easily get lost in liquid pools of silver. She tried to brush past him again, but he forced her to the wall, locking her there with a hand on either side of her head.

"You're doing something to me, Granger. Don't try to deny it. You're doing something to me, and it's wrong, you're _wrong._ " He appealed to her with eyes strangely beseeching in their passion. "I couldn't even curse you the way I was supposed to. Why do you think that is, Granger?"

Hermione was at a loss for words. What on earth did Malfoy want from her? He was far too close, and she was torn between wrenching away or flinging herself forward. What an odd urge to have! "I don't know what you're talking about, Malfoy," she spat. "Obviously, I'm doing nothing. You're just here to guard me, to _watch me._ They want to know the instant Harry contacts me."

"Maybe so."

Hermione gasped at his admission, not expecting him to gloss over the accusation, let alone admit it.

"But aside from the meddlesome Potter, _you've_ done something. _I know_ you have. How else do you explain why I can't curse you properly, or why I can't stop—" He paused as if not liking what he was going to say. "Nevermind. I suppose you would never admit it."

Her heart stuttered in her chest. Could he hear it? He was so close, and she felt even more fearful than when she had been presented as target practice earlier in the evening.

"Think I slipped you a love potion?" she spat cruelly. She met his challenging glare blatantly. "I wouldn't touch you for all the galleons in the world—you make me _sick_."

"Do I?"

She did not like the wicked glint that passed through his eyes.

He stepped closer to her, and she could feel the heat of his body caressing the heat of hers, even if they weren't touching. "Because I think you're _lying._ I've seen the way you look at me. I know you wonder...I know you feel it too."

"Feel what?" her voice shrilled loudly, and she was worried she let him truly get to her. "You're _obsessed, Malfoy._ I don't think about you at all. You disgust me, as I'm sure you do every girl."

Draco laughed, and the deep, rich sound rumbled chaotically through his chest. "Do you really think so? I could get any girl I wish," he retorted. "They would find themselves _privileged._ "

Her heart rioted against the cage of her chest, angry and confused. "You're despicable, Malfoy, and I hate you with every fiber of my being."

"That's good," he all but crooned. "I hate you too."

And then he was kissing her.

Kissing her so abruptly - so hotly - so demanding - she couldn't breathe! His lips were moving fast and hard, coaxing a response from her. They were somehow soft and delicious. How could such vile lips taste so sweet? He was a walking _paradox,_ and she should stop him.

But his hand was dropping to her waist, his other hand capturing her chin and tilting it. Hermione braced herself against the stone wall as he stepped forward, closing the distance.

His breath was heady and _distracting._

She was lulled into submission. His mouth moved against her own sinuously, wiping the tumultuous slate of her mind free. There were reasons she should push him away, but they were disappearing, vanishing, like a Patronus heading off into the night.

He was here, and he was alive beneath her questing fingers, yes - her fingers! - they sought purchase in his shirt. They squeezed the muscles hiding beneath the material. The world was a _changed,_ mysterious place; she could not wrap her head around it. She wanted order and _meaning._ She wanted something to make sense!

He made sense.

His lips moved decadently against hers, drawing her, enticing her, and then she was helpless but to move, too. His tongue jutted out from his mouth, tasting her playfully, and it was quite _lovely._ It sent sparks down her spine, igniting low in her abdomen and heating her senses. Who could blame her for opening her mouth, too?

She had initially been far too shocked to move, stunned to participate, but he didn't stop _moving,_ didn't allow for passiveness, and soon, she was opening her mouth.

 **~oOo*oOo~**

It was quite a funny thing...to get that forbidden taste you were depriving yourself of.

But Draco had realized that was it - it was the _reason -_ and the secret to his obsession.

He wanted what he couldn't have - wasn't that always the case? And now that he'd come to terms with it, he was fucking _feasting on it._

Because Draco liked the way Granger tasted.

Like peppermint tea and berries and _hope._

He was fucking spellbound.

Because he'd never tasted something so delicious, and he'd never have known unless he'd lowered himself to her. She was so _common._ So _plebian._ So filthy! But she was decadent and, despite his shame, he wanted more.

Heat plummeted to his loins and awakened his senses. He became instantly hard and so aroused it actually hurt.

She was dirty and forbidden and _unworthy,_ but he couldn't get enough. That should make him fearful. That should make him _stop._

Little-common-Mudblood-Granger was enticing him, putting a spell on him, and he should pull away! So long as he remembered who she was, what her blood signified, he could break free. It was atrocious and weak, and what would his father say?

A small whimper escaped her throat, and Draco swallowed it up, his tongue relentlessly exploring the cavern of her mouth, searching for the secret of her appeal.

Her taste was decadent. The feel of her skin, only separated by thin material under his hand, burned him. He wanted to run his hands through her riotous chestnut curls and let his fingers tangle in their brown depths. He kept thinking about her eyes, currently closed in wonder, but usually so full of emotion and expressive. She was so perfect under his hands, so _fitting!_

But she was wrong.

If there was one universal truth in his life, it was that she was _wrong._

The truth of the statement hit him like a Bludger to the chest.

He backed away from her in two long strides and breathed gulps of Granger-free air into his lungs. She slid helplessly down the wall, proving his effect on her, despite what she'd claimed. He knew it had just been a lie, and now he'd proved it, now she _saw._

"You wouldn't touch me for all the galleons?" he asked once his panting was under control. "It appears you would."

Hermione gasped for air, her fingers gripping her skirt so hard her knuckles turned white.

Forcing himself calm, he raised his eyebrow quizzically. "I wonder what else you'd do for me, Granger? Carrow is right, you just need a Pureblood to command you, and then you could achieve your worth."

Hurt flashed through her stormy eyes, and she pulled herself quickly up, her breathing still ragged.

"We have detention this week," he informed her, remembering his original purpose for accosting her. "Every day with Snape after classes."

Granger didn't dignify him with a response, instead fleeing to the confines of her room and her relative sanctuary.

 **~oOo*oOo~**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Hello again, lovely readers! Here is the next installment of my little story for your reading pleasure.  
Thank you again to MrBenzedrine for her lovely beta job : ***

* * *

 **Chapter 3**

"What are you two doing here?"

Snape - or rather - _Headmaster Snape,_ the infernal traitor that he was, did not seem pleased to see them.

"Detention, Headmaster," Malfoy answered easily.

Gods, his voice. The sound of _his_ voice was grating and echoing and fucking with her mind—just like the man himself, she supposed.

"Who's idea was this?" Again, short and crisp, to the point and lacking any apology he should have been _bursting with._

"Professor Carrow," she answered coolly. "She's ordered us to the dungeons to await your discretion, _Headmaster._ "

Hermione could not help the derisive scowl that appeared on her face, but Snape ignored it. She was prepared for the worst. Whatever the Carrows could manage surely paled in comparison to what he was capable of. This was the man that had killed Albus Dumbledore in cold blood! Her rage grew palpable.

"Fine," he conceded. "I suppose there are cauldrons you could wash, ingredients from the other classes you can put away. Slughorn will appreciate the help. You may leave only when you are finished."

He turned from the room, and Hermione openly gaped at the retreating wizard.

Was that _all_? Surely there was some sick and twisted plan. He couldn't really mean to assign them such a simple task. Something so arbitrary and _easy._ Busywork, really.

"On with it, Granger," Malfoy demanded of her, as if he were in charge of her or something. "The sooner we finish, the sooner we can leave."

Begrudgingly, Hermione had to agree with that assessment.

She set about Scorgifying the cauldrons as Snape had not forbidden magic. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Malfoy do the same on another row.

Bloody Hell.

It had been a day - a day of grueling classes and harsh teasing - but Hermione had still been unable to wrap her head around what had occurred between her and Malfoy. She had initially woke up thinking it had been a dream. She might have been able to convince herself it hadn't happened had her lips not been bruised from the impact of Malfoy's kissing.

What would Ron say?

He'd have a bloody conniption, and he'd certainly _never_ understand.

She didn't understand herself. What had prompted her to let it happen - to not have pushed him away - to have _participated?_ It was so many levels of insane she couldn't even begin to fathom it all.

The only thing she knew was that kissing Malfoy had been what her body wanted - what it had _craved_ \- the only thing that had made sense in the nightmare she had currently found herself in.

A small, very small, cowardly part of her wished for it to happen again.

When he kissed her, gone were her worries and concerns! There was no reason to think; snogging was instinctive and natural. It was a welcome relief in a, thus far horrible, seventh year. It didn't matter that he'd spat cruel things at her right after. Who cared if he called her names and said her blood was wrong? For a moment, he had been as blissfully carefree as she was.

She chanced a glance at the blond, busy casting cleaning charms and not looking at her. Perhaps it would never happen again?

"That wasn't as harsh as I expected it to be," she commented carefully, not looking at him.

"You're making smalltalk now?" he challenged.

"Just observing." Merlin, but the man made her nuts! She felt like everything she did was under scrutiny and being evaluated for strengths and weaknesses. He was so bloody Slytherin.

"Snape doesn't care," he said dismissively. "He has enough to worry about."

Finished with her rows, Hermione felt her ire peaked. "Oh, yes, let's feel sorry for poor... _Headmaster Snape,_ beloved by the new regime and thrust in a most coveted position of power."

Malfoy glanced up at her, grey eyes peircing. "It's not so black and white, Granger. There are many shades of grey in this world."

Hermione's retort died on her tongue. Malfoy seemed to have the uncanny ability to make her feel small. Did he believe her to be a child that couldn't fathom life's tiny nuances, that she couldn't understand? She could—the bastard.

She gathered up jars of ingredients, carrying them in her arms before depositing them on the table in front of the potions cabinet. She and Malfoy did this until everything had been rounded up.

"I'm sorry to hear life as a Death Eater isn't all rainbows and sunshine," she snarked. "Poor Professor Snape, indeed."

Malfoy didn't answer her, for which she was not surprised, but just continued putting potions ingredients away. She had almost forgotten her remark until he said something so quietly she had to strain to hear.

"Have you ever wanted something so badly but been disappointed when it finally happened? Like, it wasn't exactly what you'd hoped for...you saw the facade and not what it really was." For a moment, Malfoy was open and vulnerable before closing down abruptly and adopting a haughty face of indifference. "I suppose a Mudblood like you wouldn't know the half of it. Your kind are useless."

It was odd, or rather, it was _crazy_ the way Malfoy could make her feel so many emotions in the span of mere seconds! She begrudgingly came to terms with the fact that he did, indeed, have a real talent.

Hermione wasn't sure where her retort came from, but she was helpless to stop the words from tumbling from her mouth. "Was I useless yesterday when you had me pressed against the wall, Malfoy?"

He paused as if stunned, and Hermione couldn't suppress the giggle that escaped her lips.

 **~oOo*oOo~**

The scathing sound that left her throat sent his rage to blazing.

That she, a mere _Mudblood,_ would poke fun at him? Draco had long since known she was barmy, but even this had rose her craziness to new levels in his mind. She was out of line! She was a pompous girl that could barely be referred to as a witch, and she had the audacity to question him!

She was far too close.

She had probably brushed against him a half dozen times in her quest to put ingredients away, and it was wearing on his nerves.

Whirling on her, he slammed her back into the cabinet and stepped so he was just a hair's breath away. "Do you think you can taunt me, can throw it in my face when you were whimpering like a whore? I don't think so, Granger. You wanted it, just like you do now."

A plethora of emotions passed over her face from fear to rage.

"In your dreams, Malfoy." She pushed him hard in the chest, taking him by such surprise that he actually stumbled backwards. "You forced yourself on me. I was just surprised was all."

"Surprised...and no reaction, save that?"

Granger looked wary, mulling over the challenge in his words. Injecting herself with mock confidence, she agreed. "That's right. The only reaction I had was disgust."

He stepped forward, caging her against the wall as he had previously. "Disgust?" His gaze became feral as Granger seemed to shrink before his eyes against the wall. "So you weren't _wet for me_?"

Granger gasped, but, for a split second, he saw raw need pass over her expressive features. "You wish, Malfoy, you absolute _prat!_ I pity the witch who would be so desperate for your affections."

She was stuttering, her false bravado fracturing, and Draco was grinning like the cat that got the cream.

"Would that I believed you. There is only one way to find out."

Granger slapped him, much harder than she had in third year. The sound echoed through the dungeons. Her stormy eyes were fearful as she realized what she'd done. Of course, she would expect him to hurt her—it was what he _should do,_ but it wasn't what he did.

The urge to cause her pain was powerful, but he did something else, instead. Resisting his desire to reach for his wand, he instead pressed his lips to hers, searing them in a brutal battle for dominance.

She made a half-ass attempt to wrench away, as if that was what she _really wanted,_ but the effort was futile and in vain. He kissed her erratically - lips clashing and teeth tearing. He didn't care—that was how him and Granger _were._ His cheek still stung from her slap. Everything was a battle of wills between them, everything was an argument.

She was a wild beast, and he was there to break her.

With single minded focus, he deepened the kiss, relishing in her decadent taste which seemed to drug his senses. He could almost forget about his purposes, his carefully planned actions, so long as it was her taste on his tongue. It was true what they'd said…

...The forbidden fruit was really the sweetest!

He mistakenly thought he only required but a taste, and then she would be _gone,_ erased from his system. Only she wasn't, and after their previous game, he was left only wanting more, craving her intrinsic flavor.

He would make her see.

He would make her want it, too.

His hands were more insistent this time, trailing along her curves in delightful patterns, eliciting delicious sounds from her mouth. He had wanted to hurt her, and so he had kissed her instead. Now his goal was to break her, to dissolve her into pieces before she could utter more words of denial she didn't really mean.

She was making him think this way…

...How bad was his tempting witch?

So long as he coaxed her, so long as he showed her who had the authority, then she would see! She would know it was senseless to refuse him, that this was the only way to break the bizarre binding that connected them, and then he would be free of her - she would be _out._

Visions of her riding him, of her tonguing him, of her writhing beneath him assaulted his vision. Though crude, it was a basic need he couldn't deny. Once he had her, he could forget her! He surely wouldn't be sticking his neck out for her any longer. His cock hardened to steel against her thigh, aching with need.

His fingers grew greedy.

He caressed the slopes of her breasts over her shirt, delighting in the resulting keen she let out. He need only coax her, only convince her, and she was ripe for the taking. He would tell her filthy things, entice her, anything to get her to _let him._

He broke away from her scorching mouth to nuzzle her neck, placing wet kisses on the column of her vulnerable throat. Her head lulled to the side, giving him the access they both wanted. Granger was like putty in his more than capable hands.

"Are you wet for me?" he rasped, his voice almost unrecognizable.

The question made her _moan,_ and Draco became a man-possessed.

"I bet your second lips are _just soaking_ for me." He smirked against her neck, his fingers playing at the hem of her skirt. "I just need a little taste. If I get a taste, I'll be able to get it out, get _you out,_ Granger, and then we can go back to hating each other. Won't you let me, Granger?" The pads of his fingertips brushed along the silky skin of her inner thighs. "Just give in, Granger."

" _Malfoy_." She began to stutter, so lost and unsure. "I'm not sure- I don't think…"

He ran his finger down her cloth-covered mound, cursing the thin cotton that separated them. She was always so torn in her desire—it wasn't fair! He was giving in, so she should, too. He wanted her to shatter into a million pieces for him. He became obsessed with the vision of her finally submitting instead of always fighting.

"I can make you feel so good," he promised, the dark infection of his words humming along with his magic that had flared out in search of hers. It felt oddly good when their wild magic touched for the first time, oddly _right._

She held onto him tighter, seemingly just as surprised as he was.

His fingers trailed higher, just at the hem of her cotton knickers, almost _home._ "Be the good girl you always are," he demanded huskily. "Let me see."

And she might have, she might have let him. No one was there to stop them, no Snape or Harry or Ron or unnamed student, just them. His hand had dipped under her waistband, almost to its destination, when she suddenly reared away from him, flying to the opposite end of the bloody cabinet and, with shaky fingers, straightening her clothes.

"No, Malfoy," she said decisively, her hooded eyes brimming with a mixture of lust and determination. "I said I don't _want you._ "

Something that felt eerily close to rejection froze through his heated limbs and vessels. She was telling him no, the Mudblood? It was incomprehensible. He couldn't think; there wasn't enough blood rushing to his head. She couldn't possibly mean to refuse him. They both needed this. They couldn't break the insufferable spell until they had each other, until he had _her._

 **~oOo*oOo~**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Warning-steaminess abounds!  
** **Thank you MrBenzedrine for fixing this chapter for me C:**

* * *

 **Chapter 4**

She tried to stay calm.

She tried to stay tuned in.

But her thoughts were confused fragments that didn't seem to go with anything at all—they were in _shambles._

She tried to focus on her studies.

On her classes.

On her _task._

But she was hardpressed to think of anything else, save Malfoy. She was in so many classes with Malfoy! She shared a common room with Malfoy. She had detention with Malfoy. How could she avoid the brooding wizard? She'd spurned him, and she ignored him, but that did nothing to dull the fact that he was there, just there, in her immediate proximity.

It was no way to live.

The atrocities at the school went on. Her friends falling victim to the Carrows continued. But a funny thing had happened—she wasn't _standing out._ Not that she would have reacted if she did. She felt numb and cold and _impervious_ to the insanity around her.

All she could think about was Malfoy, and his fingers, and his mouth, and the things he told her. He was so evil, and wanting him was wrong, and she would probably go straight to Hell for it, but damn if she could resist the wizard.

She had pushed him away - for two days - and it felt like being under the Cruciatus. She was missing a piece of her _soul_ —how could she let it continue? She had to go back to him, had to convince him, had to hope that they could be together, regardless of what may happen afterwards. There would be tears and heartbreak and foul words exchanged, but she would have had him!

It was simple, really.

No more denying herself what she wanted desperately—she would have Malfoy because he was right—it was the only way to be rid of this affliction that plagued them both.

 **~oOo*oOo~**

She walked towards him carefully, very slowly, her mind racing and her heart practically pounding out of her chest.

"Go away, Granger," came the haughty demand.

It didn't stall her in the least. It had been _two days._ In that time, she'd come to terms with their shared obsession. He might want to prolong the torture, but she wouldn't allow it. Any more time and her sanity would surely suffer a fatal blow.

"No, Malfoy." She advanced on him with all the stealth of a predator. "I don't want to. This is our common room, after all. You've told me countless times."

"Granger," he warned. "You come any closer and you know what will happen."

She smirked, but the smile did not touch her eyes. Instead, she merely unclasped her robes in the back and pulled the material off of her shoulders before sailing them through the air and letting them fall noiselessly to the ground. She then proceeded to pull her Gryffindor jumper off of her person, casting it aside. Malfoy watched, his eyes brimming with desire as she continued. The buttons of her white oxford came next, exposing part of her cream-colored bra to the Slytherin's roving eyes. She kicked off her shoes and stepped closer, until her knees were just shy of touching his shins in the chair he sat in.

"Maybe I want it to, Malfoy." She bit her lip, taking note of the blush crawling up his neck and mottling his pale skin.

"I've had enough of the teasing, _Mudblood_."

 _Ah, Mudblood,_ she mused. _The trump card. As if the word even affects me anymore._

"Fine," she told him sweetly, turning around and walking as sultry as she could until she reached the ottoman and sat delicately down, spreading her legs a little wider as she did.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm just sitting here, like I have a right to do."

The rate of his breathing increased, and his eyes had turned the color of coal, black pupils overshadowing silver. Hermione leaned back on the ottoman, resting on her forearms, biting her lip as she let her legs fall open.

Malfoy let out a moan before he bolted up, and then he was there - right there! - in between the slopes of her thighs, his fingers digging into her skin brutally. Hermione laughed, the sound rich and wicked as she threw her head back, relishing in the contact.

"What's happened to you, Granger?"

The wizard was so silly. As if he could keep her like this - _wanting for days -_ while he was the only thing that made sense. He was crude and cruel, and he didn't care about her, but he made her _feel,_ and Hermione came to terms with how valuable that really was. It was important to feel things. How could she remember who she was if she didn't?

"Just do it, Malfoy," she commanded throatily. " _Make me feel,_ and I'll give you what you want."

Malfoy pulled himself up and over her, capturing her lips in a searing kiss. She opened her mouth immediately, welcoming his skillful tongue. Kissing him was so unlike anything else. It made her feel _whole,_ and in so doing, made her realize that she didn't feel this way normally.

Her fingers carded through platinum tresses, pulling and tugging him closer, making it easier to taste him.

He was all man.

Cloves and jasmine tea and something _dark._

Just what she needed.

Just his proximity improved her mood, made her feel like herself again, made her remember what it was like _to fight._ For two days, the feeling had alluded her, and that was frightening. Malfoy tasted like disagreements, like quarrels and rage and something illicit. She whimpered into his mouth, relishing in the feel of his body as he pressed it intimately to hers. He groaned at the contact, grabbing a fistful of her curls in his hands and pulling her close.

He broke away panting, dark eyes so alien and so full of desire it stilted her vision and made her heart flutter.

"When I take you," his right hand squeezed her hip, "I will do so on my terms." His left hand gripped her hair unrelenting whilst somehow tenderly rubbing the luxurious curls between his fingers. "You must submit to me...you must be mine for the night."

"Just to break the spell?" Her chocolate eyes sought assurance, even from her tormenter. He couldn't expect this to be common. It was what they both needed, and then they would go separate ways. She couldn't let him think her compliance meant she would let him have her again.

He nodded. "We just need to get each other out, then we can go on like before."

Hermione didn't bother telling him she didn't very much care for _before_ ; she merely nodded back just so he could go back to kissing her.

But he didn't.

He dropped to his knees.

Merlin, a Pureblood on his knees for her! Malfoy was right—it was all so _very wrong._

 _Just one time,_ she promised herself. _Ron and Harry needn't know—they never have to find out about it. Malfoy surely won't tell them._

His inquisitive fingers were pushing, spreading, opening her thighs up to him. Would it hurt? Would she feel herself breaking? He wanted to shatter her, and he was going to do just that! A part of her should be sad. It should have been _Ron._ But even that didn't seem right.

"You smell so good, Granger." Malfoy abruptly pressed his nose into the juncture of her thighs, his breath tickling her sensitive flesh and causing her to arch off of the ottoman. "If I only get you once, I'll make it count _._ "

 **~oOo*oOo~**

He ripped off her knickers and wrenched apart her thighs, not bothering with her skirt. He liked the way it looked bunched up around her legs, so innocent yet so naughty.

Granger had come to him willingly, and he wouldn't permit her to leave before he had her the way he'd been dreaming about.

He kissed her inner thigh to distract her, his mouth and teeth moving against her flesh. Merlin, but she was delicious, and she was _his for the night._ His fingers were not as patient as the rest of him and climbed the creamy expanse of her leg until reaching the soft flesh he'd been dreaming about, had _obsessed over._

"Let's find out if you've been good or bad," he crooned against her thigh, on his bloody knees for her, threadbare _._ He plunged his fingers inside her scorching heat and moaned at the feel of her inner walls - _so bloody tight and clenching him_ \- watching as her eyes screwed shut and her back arched taut off of the cushions.

His cock was weeping with the urge to drive into her, caring about nothing but that moist heat his fingers were lucky enough to encounter. This hot and tight around two fingers, and how would his cock feel? He flexed his hips involuntarily against her leg.

"Fuck," he swore. "Look what you did?" He pushed against her for emphasis. "Such a bad girl...I'd hoped..."

"Malfoy." Her voice was strained and laced with want. "Please _keep moving._ I'll do anything."

Music to his ears. She was willing and perfect and so responsive _,_ he'd have to free his cock before he came in his pants like a bloody fourth year. He moved his fingers expertly, trailing long, velvety strokes across the skin of her leg teasingly with his tongue. She'd come here hoping to get the jump on him, but blast that to _Hell,_ he was in charge, and she would soon come to see that rather quickly.

Fuck, he _had to have her._

The need to take her was bloody stifling. She was so hot and warm and slick _and dirty_. He wanted to press into her core and pound like a mad man until he reached his release. The sounds she made were so fucking sexy he could hardly focus. His desire was monstrous and demanding. As soon as he obliterated that need he could go back to hating her, but right now, he couldn't stop wanting her _._

She was trembling with need, and he was barely hanging by a thread. She was doing it again, making him lose control. He needed to show her who was in charge!

When he pressed his mouth against her core, his tongue sweeping against her sensitive flesh fervently, a scream tore from her throat. Her hands flew to his head, shamelessly pressing him against her in a silent plea to keep up his skillful licks.

"You're being bad again, Granger," he whispered against her. "Put your hands over your head," he commanded, his words sharp and wild. "Only good witches get rewarded."

She whined her despair, craving her release, but, to his delight, complied nonetheless, locking her fingers above her head. "Malfoy... _please._ "

Granger's pleas were music to his ears. He liked having her hanging on his every command. "You're so beautiful," he informed her between licks. "Filthy, but beautiful."

His tongue melted into her scorching heat, lapping at her juices like it was the best thing he'd ever tasted. The fervent swipes of his tongue elicited a litany of cries from her mouth. Soon, he had her reduced to a sobbing mess, hanging on his every word. He would tell her how fitting she looked, spread out wantonly before him, how she was a good whore and, if she were lucky, might just get her reward yet. The pulsating walls caressing his tongue had his cock swelling with raw need. He moaned against her delicious center, spurred by the husky noises she made.

"Mmm," he hummed, breaking away from her core but leaving his fingers and keeping her just on the edge. "I'll make it so good for you. You're quite lucky - you should be begging me for this."

" _Please,_ " she wailed, cheeks flushed crimson. "I want it."

"What do you want, my little Mudblood?" But he was already unbuckling and removing his constricting trousers.

"You... _inside me...please_!"

Draco did not think he had ever been more turned on in his life than he was in that moment.

Granger was begging him for his cock, and he could hardly control himself.

 **~oOo*oOo~**

Hermione was breaking.

She was guided to the precipice of promised bliss only to be wrenched away cruelly each time! It left her desperate and shaking. In one wild moment, she thought she might come just from his words alone.

He was so forceful.

So demanding.

But... _gods..._ she loved it!

She was quickly forgetting all the reasons she should hold back - should _retain a piece of herself_ \- in favor of promising him anything he wished, so long as he didn't leave her wanting! That she would allow him this much power over him, when it had all started so promising, she would do anything for _more,_ anything for _him._

Anything for _Draco._

Yes, would he be pleased if she called him that? She wanted badly to please him! If only he would lose control as she had already done so, then she might get what she wished for most.

" _Draco_ ," she called languidly. "Please, make me _feel good._ "

The resulting groan that escaped his lips would have made her smirk if she wasn't so painfully on edge, the hot and wet sensation burning between her thighs. He positioned himself - his _glorious self_ \- at her entrance and rubbed against her teasingly.

"Draco!" she wailed, thrashing against him and seeking more of the pleasant friction. " _Stopteasingme!_ "

He pressed further against her, the wide girth of the tip of his cock swallowed up by her pulsating heat.

"You won't _fucking move_ ," he demanded, somewhat deranged. "The second I feel your sweet pussy squeeze my cock and that's it," he promised, the threat clear in his unhinged eyes.

Hermione had a true moment of terror—how could she control herself? Her core was empty and aching, save for the teasing tip of him. It wanted desperately to squeeze against something _hard_.

Tears sprung at the edges of her eyes. She nodded furiously, hoping she could finally feel him penetrating her so deep her eyes would roll back in her head.

When he surged forward, she was not prepared for the feeling of fullness to say nothing of the feeling of hard, velvety flesh pressed intimately against her walls.

"Fuck, Granger...a bloody virgin?" His eyes were screwed shut in apparent bliss. "You should have told me."

It didn't even hurt—wasn't it supposed to hurt? "Hermione," she corrected him. "Please?"

"You should have told me... _Hermione_."

She couldn't control it—her walls clamped down on him fiercely as if they hoped to trap him there.

"Oh!" her eyes rolled back at the decadent sensation. His magic enveloped her, warm and inviting, and Hermione wanted nothing more than to careen of the edge of the cliff she found herself on, despite what he'd said. One more squeeze of the hotness buried inside her and she would be _there._

"Don't fucking move," he said against her neck. "I'll pull out and leave you wanting...leave that tight hot pussy - _gods!_ \- clenching on nothing - don't think I won't!"

Hermione couldn't help herself; her walls clamped down on him so tightly she thought he may withdraw from the pain, but he only seemed to gasp out his elation, too gripped by pleasure than to follow through on his threat.

"So _bad,_ Hermione."

She squeezed him again, her walls _fluttering,_ and it was all she needed to spiral out of control.

She was flung headfirst into the abyss, and she was spinning - and breaking - and shattering - and _screaming._ The coil of tension that held her body taut had snapped and broke sharply, causing her to careen in continuous waves of pleasure.

"Fuck," Malfoy swore, suddenly snapping his hips into her quivering heat. "I've never- I usually…" A feral growl escaped his throat as he began moving in earnest. She moved with his thrusts, maximizing each stroke as rapture coursed through first her and then him.

Hermione had just enough sense to appreciate just how beautiful he looked when he was finally unraveled and free of any sort of mask. Merlin, but it was too much! Her body was _so sensitive,_ and he was _still moving,_ and she surely couldn't survive so many sensations.

It, most definitely, would not be _enough._

 **~oOo*oOo~**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: This is the last installment of my little Springfest story-I hope you like it!  
A big thanks to MrBenzedrine for helping me make the story so much better C:  
XxX  
**

* * *

 **Chapter 5**

She dreamt of delicate silver entwined with startling blue sapphires.

How pretty!

Sparkling diamonds and wise eagles and bright blue gems.

She dreamed of chambers and slumbering basilisks. Of rooms stocked with everything and nothing, except the one thing that she needed most.

 _Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure._

Hermione bolted upright. She glanced with wild eyes, before recognizing she was lying on the common room sofa - _naked -_ save for a blanket thrown haphazardly on her. Merlin, but she wasn't even in bed. And - _dear God_ \- the things she had allowed to transpire between them that night! She should be ashamed…

...But she wasn't.

As hard as she tried, she could summon no shame in her actions.

She'd slept with Draco, and the decision had been a conscious one. He was the enemy, the only enemy to have stayed consistent during her whole school career, the terrorizer of her friends and of herself, yet she could not be bothered to be chagrined by this as she knew she should. She had needed him, and he had needed her.

The night had been...

... _Glorious._

There was no denying it. Her thighs tingled at the memory, her abdominal walls aching, but still sparked in excitement at the recollection.

Well, damn.

They'd both agreed to a _one-time thing._ That was all they needed, _they were sure._ Only, Hermione was horrified to realize that simply wasn't all she needed. The creature who was far more primitive than her stretched lazily, righteous fury mingled with jealousy flaring at the possibility of ending - _of sharing_ \- Draco with anybody else.

 _You'd better get bloody over it,_ she advised sternly, wrapping the blanket around her chest and dragging herself to the lavatory. _It was a one time thing never to be repeated_ — _that's what we both agreed on._ She needed a shower badly. She'd slept against the roughened fabric of the sofa with no clothes on. Had he been the one to toss her the blanket? Something fluttered in her chest at the thought. _Forget about it—it's time to focus on the damn diadem. I need to get it before…_

Before the next prank she was forced to endure didn't turn lethal.

She turned on all the faucets in the sprawling tub, selecting several bubble concoctions. This could be the last opportunity she had to take a proper bath, and she might as well savor it. She wondered if Draco was in his room, but, instinctively, she knew he wasn't. It was almost like she could _sense_ him, or sense his magic, at least.

It was late on a Saturday, and so long as she was careful, she might avoid everyone and afford herself some precious time.

Damn, how she regretted not taking Harry's Invisibility Cloak.

It didn't matter. She would find it - she would shove it into her bag - and she would leave without looking back.

 **~oOo*oOo~**

Draco moved robotically through the day.

Anymore, he was hardpressed to assimilate with the others. He didn't know what had changed - Merlin, but he was there king! - yet his heart wasn't into it. He could manage passably, just saying enough to keep the attention away from him, but _he didn't want to._

Today was worse than the other days— _far worse_.

He couldn't get her off of his mind.

The…

He couldn't even _say it_ anymore.

It was like the word stayed lodged in his mind. He'd awoke clinging to her, and damn if his fingers wouldn't uncurl from around her waist. It was all so _barmy._ It was supposed to have gotten better, but it only seemed, somehow, worse.

"They took that Hufflepuff Mudblood," Daphne's shrilling voice cut through his silent musings. "Saw him dragged away from the Great Hall at lunch."

It was enough.

Draco didn't bother telling his friends where he was going. His feet took him to the Head's Common Room to where he had left her, where he had thrown a blanket over her, for Salazar's sake. He couldn't get there fast enough. He had to see.

The-Boy-Wonder and the Weasel really were pathetic—and they were to be humanity's last hope? They had not taken care of Granger; they had left her to the wolves. _And it's for the best,_ he inwardly consoled himself. _This needs to happen - what other opportunity is there? No one can stand against the Dark Lord, certainly not Potter. There's no room for Granger in this world._

His heart stilted in his chest when he crawled through the portrait hole and found an empty common room. He didn't know what it meant. He knew instantly that she wasn't tucked away in her bedroom, either—he could sense it if she had been.

Surely she wasn't traversing around the castle. He'd hoped she would know she was in danger. They both had rounds tonight...would she be there? Draco wasn't sure if he wanted her to be or not.

 **~oOo*oOo~**

Her bag slapped against her leg as she walked, and she hoped no one could hear it. Her Disillutionment Charm was _strong,_ but was it enough to conceal her from some of the most powerful wizards in the wizarding world. She needed the damned Cloak.

Well…

Harry and Ron probably needed it more.

What would they say when she found them? Would they be happy? Surely they would be glad to see she'd brought them a horcrux. Hopefully they knew of a way to destroy it. Hermione had a hankering about the basilisk fang lying temptingly in the Chamber, but there _wasn't time._ She couldn't get the book to translate _open_ in Parsaltongue, not when it had already started, not when they were taking people.

She should have really tried to bring others with her, but others would have just bogged her down. Her thinking had shifted somewhat since enduring the school year from Hell. She was a bit more reluctant to run into danger for others.

Hermione pulled her the hood of her jumper close around her face, clenching her jaw and her wand for good measure as she reached the Defense classroom. She was almost there - _right where she needed to be -_ she could take the passage the one-eyed witch statue guarded and end up in the cellar of Honeydukes, far away from the cursed castle she was beginning to loathe, but that's when she sensed it.

A presence not her own.

But one distinctly familiar.

His wand was lit as he drew nearer, and she pressed her back against the stone wall, hoping to sink into it. Was he looking for her? Had they sent him after her? Even worse, had he _found the note_? Each option seemed more dangerous than the last. She really shouldn't have written the note.

He kept walking, not even glancing her way, and Hermione thought that maybe her Disillutionment Charm was holding up better than she could have anticipated. He walked right past her. She could feel the air around her shift as he passed by. He was going to keep walking, and she was going to make it to safety. She was eighteen and she could Apparate out of this nightmare and never turn back.

His voice was so low, she had to strain to hear it.

"Safe travels, Granger."

The realization that he knew she was there - knew the whole time and didn't try to restrain her - sent her heart to flutter rapidly in her chest.

He could have easily turned her in—it would have probably bode _well for him._ But he hadn't, and that had been the _third time._

The relief of his well-aimed curse.

The hospital wing trip.

Now this.

Her brain spun with the implication of it all.

Perhaps her intuition had led her true when she left the note.

 **~oOo*oOo~**

The week went on as it always was.

Draco might have initially felt the difference - felt _the loss_ \- but he was a survivor and a Malfoy and someone that always did what he _had to,_ what he was _expected to._ He forced himself to forget, compartmentalized it away, convinced himself it had been a delusion, whatever he needed to say to get by.

This was how the world was—silly hopes got you nowhere.

The world was wicked and cruel and dangerous, and he simply needed to be all that and _more_ to survive. There was no getting around it. Hope was for the weak, and the weak would soon be eradicated from the planet, no matter what sweetness they could bring. It would all be a distant memory...soon they wouldn't exist.

But then he made the discovery.

A note tied to his Firebolt, of all things.

He stared at the parchment for a good five minutes before he dared open it.

 _D,_

 _I left something of value there. I couldn't get to it. A fang hidden in the depths of the castle. You can get to it through Myrtle's lavatory—you know the place? You must tell it to 'open' as only a snake can._

 _Get it and bring it to me?_

 _Only if you want to._

 _You said there were shades of grey and that can mean many things._

 _My heart tells me it means we have a chance._

 _Get the weapon and leave the school. Send me a Patronus, and I'll find you. I know you can't wield one now, but if you were able to, I would know you could be trusted. I have faith you can do it. Your Patronus will know how to find me._

 _I hope you decide to._

 _Once was not enough._

 _H._

 **~oOo*oOo~**


End file.
